


still.

by choiyoonas



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Castiel Loves Dean Winchester, Castiel and Dean Winchester in Love, Dean Winchester Loves Castiel, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt No Comfort, I hope this makes yall sad, M/M, This Is Not Going To Go The Way You Think, Widower Dean Winchester, also not that this is better than what we got, but who doesn't, congrats, cried a little while writing, destiel brain rot babey, destiel deserved better, hehe, i like inflicting pain on readers, im not sorry, script leak u broke me, unfortunately
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:41:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28034073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/choiyoonas/pseuds/choiyoonas
Summary: still beautiful. still dean winchester. these are words you think before you pull him close one last time, before you die and break his heart. again.there is no returning from this, from the way dean became a widower when you left him. did you want to leave? did you want to make a widower out of the human you loved so much? it couldn’t have been easy, making the deal and going through with it. was it worth it?
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Kudos: 13





	still.

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this following the 15x18 script leak. i might have made myself emotional. writing this was fun but whoo boy did it Break Me. enjoy you funky hellers. leave a kudos or comment if you enjoy it, they honestly make my day :)

_Still beautiful. Still Dean Winchester._ These are words you think before you pull him close one last time, before you die and break his heart. Again. 

He’s not mad at you. Really. He’s not. He’s mad at the world. At God. At the Empty. For taking you; for not letting him say those three words back; for letting him love you for twelve years only to tear you from his arms when you finally tell him. Your incandescent, glorious happiness is marred by your leavetaking. Seeing the man you _love helpless and scared when he thought the world was ending affected you,too. Telling him all the things you cherish most about him, reminding him that despite the things he hates most about himself, he is worthy of love_. If you hadn’t died, if things were different, Dean would have spun you around in his arms, kissed you, and told you everything you have wanted to hear since you fell for him. He didn’t. He couldn’t. Because you left to save him, save your family. You made a deal with the Empty and it came to collect its dues. And you left, swallowed whole by that burbling ink, black and cold and unforgiving. It is not in the nature of the Empty to not uphold its end of a deal, especially one with an angel of the lord. That is what you are, still, after all you have done and all that has been done to you.

Dean remembers when he told him you serve heaven and you certainly don’t serve him. 

That was twelve years ago, wasn’t it? You’ve changed, both of you. You serve him, now, it seems. You chose to serve that silly little human Naomi tried (and _failed_ ) to make you forget. You did not forget. You kept loving Dean Winchester. You fell for him, in more ways than one. You rebelled. You were human for him. _For him_. Always for him. 

_Still beautiful. Still Dean Winchester_ , you think as his shattered expression tugs at the strings of your fragile heart.

You pulled him to you, close enough to feel the stubble graze your cheek in the warm embrace. He looks at you, tears in his eyes. You look back, eyes scanning his face through mutual heartbreak _._

  
  


You want to keep staring, to memorize every freckle on his cheeks, the mesmerizing green of his eyes, every little detail of the human you grew to love. Maybe you wanted to kiss him. Maybe you wanted him to kiss _you._ Did you want to have him in your arms one last time, grip him tight? _You don’t have time._

  
  
  


You don’t get to see Dean cry, Castiel. You don’t hear the way the voice in his head murmurs, _Don’t go, Cas. Stay._ Dean spends a moment in the quiet room, sliding down against the wall, thinking that you are beautiful, too. _Cas. My Cas. Still devastatingly handsome, huh?_

You’re gone before you see the formidable Dean Winchester crumple to the floor, hold his head in his hands, and sob. You’re in the Empty by then. You’re gone by then. Dean still loves you. He still wants you. He knows he can’t have you, now; he knows he’ll probably never see you again, unless someone, somehow, pulls some strings and brings you back to him. The bunker is quiet when you leave. Dean’s phone rings; it’s Sam. Dean doesn’t answer. He’s suffocated by grief, by the loss. He’s never cried like this, head in hands and the world forgotten momentarily, fully sobbing on the cold concrete floor. Losing you, this time, may be what breaks him. Sure, Dean’s lost you before. This time, he knows he can’t get you back. There is no returning from this, from the way Dean became a widower when you left him. Did you want to leave? Did you want to make a widower out of the human you loved so much? It couldn’t have been easy, making the deal and going through with it. Was it worth it? 

_Was saving everyone worth losing me?_ Dean wonders, when you’ve been gone at least two weeks and the days have blurred together. If you were here to kiss him, he would taste like stale whiskey. He would smell like it, too. He’s thought about you every day since the Empty took you. He’s thought about all the ways he’d tell you he loves you, too, all the ways he could have shown you how much you mean to him. It is difficult to not agonize over every little thing that could have been. You could have had it all, a nice house in the suburbs, the apple pie life a younger version of your lover would never have wanted. This version, the older and wiser, does not remember what it feels like to be loved. Lisa was so long ago now. Dean remembers so many parts of you, so many things you did, things you said, things you didn’t. He remembers the look on your face when you left him. He’s sure he looked the exact opposite. You remember him beautiful all the same, crushing despair in the face of your truth. 

Sam tried too many times to bother counting to get Dean out of the bunker. They’ve failed miserably each time. Every time, Dean would leave for an hour before slinking back to his bedroom, messier than it’s ever been. Sam knows Dean’s grieving their angel best friend. He knows there was something more between them, or that there could have been more of only you two had gotten your heads out of you asses long enough to be fully honest with each other, with yourselves. He’s not sure he’ll ever know how Cas left them for good, what with Dean remaining firmly silent when anything regarding that night save for a few words on your departure. Dean doesn’t want to remember the night he spent on the cold concrete of the interrogation room floor, sobbing. The very idea of a Dean Winchester completely lost to the world, heartbroken and effectively widowed, is one Sam never thought to entertain. Dean hates it, truly, he hates the way you held onto him in Hell first and let go to love and leave.

_This_ is what you left behind, Castiel. The soul you pulled from Hell. The man you rebuilt from mere atoms. The soul you touched and knew immediately its glowing righteousness. The jacket and shoulder that bear your handprint, both faded with time. The shoulder bears a scar, now; the jacket is stained the color of oxidized blood. You’re not sure if Dean ever washed it or if the stain refused to budge long before you ever loved each other. It’s a strange thing, love. It destroys and corrupts. It heals and makes holy, washed in waters many have never dared touch.

This is _what remains_ in the wake of your departure. What remains, dear angel, is a man and his brother. One of them is broken, shattered. You need not guess which. Will you return? Will you return to the fragile human man you love, draw him close and vow to never, ever do anything like that again? It might not even be difficult to vow to never leave the righteous man you defied Heaven for. 

But you can’t promise that you won’t go sacrificing yourself for the world, for Dean Winchester or Jack Kline or someone else you care about, can you?

It is the very fact that you’d be lying if you promised him that which holds you back, isn’t it?

Maybe you need him to ask you to stay, to beg for you to be by his side until he falls victim to old age (or worse). Even then, you’d stay. If Dean asked. Of course you would. 

At least he did not have to bury you.

At least there was nothing left of you to clutch, to hold to him as he would have liked to hold you.

He wanted you to kiss him. He _expected it_. He may have wanted to hold your face in his hands the way he's done many times previosuly, gently, green eyes on the blue of yours and your tears and how utterly exquisite you are, so as to commit your beauty to memory before it is torn from him once more.

Everything happened too fast for you to erase the space between yourself and Dean. You left him too fast for your lips to find his and finally, finally kiss him breathless. For years, you’ve wanted nothing more than to kiss him and grin when you part, wrapped in a singular moment of happiness.

It’s what you deserved. 

Then again, since when does anyone get what they deserve?

When do men who hunt monsters get that which has eluded them, a safe and happy and _normal_ existence?

It is a shame, you must know, that the answer is, usually, never.

Perhaps it is best that you reunite with Dean in the afterlife. 

It’s not ideal.

But it’s better than spending eternity in the Empty. Eternity without him.


End file.
